Sick Leave
by RexDragosaurus
Summary: Donna had envisioned many possibilities when she'd made her decision to fly away and see the stars, but seven days stuck inside a damaged TARDIS with a flu-stricken Doctor while drifting steadily towards an enigmatic rip in the fabric of the universe wasn't one of them.
1. Day One

**A/N: **Greetings, mortals. I was thinking to myself recently that, having done stories for Sherlock and Broadchurch, I should probably write something for Doctor Who as well. So I did, and here it is. The premise is hardly original (not that premises can ever be completely so when one is writing fanfiction), but I hope you'll enjoy what I did with it. Please note however that, while a pretty avid fan of the show (both classic and post-revival), I don't pretend to know everything about the canon, so there'll be a bit of headcanon here and there, particularly with technical TARDIS-y things. Anyway, I'll leave you to your reading now. Have fun!

* * *

**Sick Leave**

**Day One**

When Donna woke up that morning—or what, in the absence of time zones, _felt_ like morning—she knew something was wrong because of the silence. It didn't register at first, but as she gradually roused herself, got up and dressed, it began to dawn on her that she couldn't hear anything at all save for the gentle hum of the TARDIS as it meandered through the vastness of the space-time continuum.

The thing was, Donna had observed that she generally woke up at what felt like more or less the same time every "morning", and at that time, the Doctor was generally to be found singing Disney songs as he made breakfast. (Breakfast itself was invariably toasted sandwiches, since the Doctor preferred to do his cooking in the control room, where the only current appliance to be found was the toasted sandwich maker, located in a hidden cupboard underneath what Donna had come to think of as the dashboard.) But _this_ "morning", there was not a peep to be heard.

The lack of noise was worrying, but only slightly. There were a hundred possible explanations for it, foremost among which was that the Doctor had finally arrived at the conclusion that singing while he cooked often led to disaster. (Of course, so did just about everything else he did, but that, for him, was life.) Donna decided to set her mind at ease by investigating the control room herself. So she walked along the confusing series of hallways she'd come to know quite well, found the door and poked her head through. There was no sign at all of the Doctor inside.

Puzzled, Donna turned back the way she'd come and began to look for him. Was he still asleep? It wasn't any less likely than anything else she could think of. At any rate, it wouldn't hurt to check...if that were actually possible.

It suddenly occurred to Donna that she had no idea where the Doctor slept. Did he even sleep at all? He must do, and yet he always stayed up when she went to bed, saying that he had some gadget to test or some instrument to check or some other thoroughly pointless task to occupy himself with.

It took almost an hour of searching, but Donna eventually chanced upon a door. This door looked very much as though it was the one she wanted, mostly because it had a sign on it which said, "DO NOT DISTURB: THE DOCTOR IS IN". Donna rolled her eyes and, raising a tentative hand, knocked on the door. "Doctor?" she said softly.

His reply was neither immediate nor clear. "Hmm... What? Donna?" A slight groan, followed by a faint rustling.

"Are you alright?" said Donna, slightly embarrassed at how anxious she was beginning to sound.

"Fine," came the muffled voice. "_Molto bene. _Never better." The words were optimistic enough, but they were slurred, and the tone was wrong: he didn't sound his usual cheery self at all.

"Is it alright if I come in?"

"No, don't—" But Donna had already opened the door and peered inside.

The Doctor's bedroom was an eye-boggling mess of alien architecture, shabby furniture, scattered books and papers, lava lamps and other strange memorabilia, but Donna hardly noticed any of that. "Doctor!" she cried, staring in shock at the bleary-eyed Time Lord lying in the bed. "You look _awful!_" It wasn't an exaggeration; he was propped up against two pillows as though he couldn't lift himself into a sitting position. There were dark circles under his eyes, his face was pale, and his rumpled, partially flattened hair was nothing short of chaotic.

"Donnaaa..." the Doctor mumbled, eyelids drooping as he began to heave himself upright. "I told you, I'm fine."

"No you're not," said Donna, crossing the room to help him up. "You're ill!"

"I'm not ill." He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes a bit. "Really."

"Well, what's the matter with you, then? Did you stay up late with your silly tinkering? Or—" She frowned at him. "—are you _hungover?_"

"Hungover? No! I'm _really _alright, Donna, there's nothing wrong with me at all. I just slept in, okay? It's not like I have to be up at any particular time anyway, so there's no need to make a fuss..." While he talked, he got to his feet and began to nudge her gently out of the room.

"But _Doctor—!_" she started to protest, but he'd already ushered her over the threshold and shut the door in her face. "Oi! I was _talking _to you, spaceman!" She started to open it again—

"DON'T COME IN, I'M GETTING DRESSED!"

"Oh—God—sorry." And she immediately withdrew.

* * *

A little while later, the Doctor—showered, dressed and groomed to perfection—swaggered into the control room. Or, rather, attempted to swagger; he still looked really tired, and the result wasn't exactly inspiring.

Donna glared at him. "You. Are. _Ill._"

The Doctor turned to her with a pained expression. "Donna Noble, I am telling you, I have never felt better in my entire life. Now then—" He turned to the dashboard and began flipping switches and pulling levers, becoming gradually more chipper as he changed the subject. "Where do we want to go today? How about the planet Kvetch in the second of the two Syzygy systems? Did you know the people there all walk about backwards? And whenever you meet someone new, you do the traditional stranger dance, which is something like a cross between a salsa and the cancan. It's brilliant!" He grinned at her.

"Doctor, we can't go gallivanting off through time and space with you in that condition!" Donna expostulated. "What if something bad happens and you're too sick to stop it?"

"Oh, there you go again," he huffed, folding his arms while the TARDIS began to shudder and jolt as it generally did when moving at high speed. "Nag, nag, nag. You're no fun at all today, are you? Well, let's see if a few hours of walking backwards and salsa-cancan-dancing with strangers can fix that. _Allon_—CHOO!" His favourite phrase was lost in the middle of a terrific sneeze, followed by a yelp of pain as his head jerked forward and collided with the screen in front of him.

The images on the screen froze for a moment, then winked out as it went dead. While Donna hastened to his side, the Doctor looked down, groaning and clutching his forehead. Several lights were blinking on the dashboard which shouldn't have been, but his vision had decided to go hazy at that moment, and he couldn't quite work out what was going on. The TARDIS slowed down and stopped rattling. Donna put a hand on the Doctor's arm and asked him if he was alright, and the Doctor squeezed his eyes closed against the pain. He didn't understand why it hurt that much. He hadn't hit the screen _that _hard, had he? And yet how his head ached...

"Doctor," Donna said firmly, "you're not well. I think you should go and have a lie down."

The Doctor began to object again, then winced as the throbbing in his head intensified, sighed and finally nodded. "Oh...maybe you're right." he muttered. "Maybe I _am _ill."

Donna slowly returned the nod, then surprised him with a sympathetic smile. "Told you." she said, and the words were not without a hint of affection.

* * *

**A/N: **And that's it for this chapter. Updates will not be long in coming as I have only the revising to do at this stage. This will be a seven chapter story, because I've decided that's my favourite number. So. That concludes this author's note. Thanks for reading!


	2. Day Two

**Day Two**

The following "morning", the Doctor found himself roused yet again by a knock on his bedroom door. "Doctor? You awake?"

"Well I am _now_." he croaked, blinking and leaning up on his elbows as the door was prodded cautiously open and Donna peeped in at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Donna said cheerfully, stepping around the door and revealing the tray she was holding. "Have a look at this! I thought I'd have a go at making breakfast this time."

The Doctor stared in confusion as she approached. "_That's _not a toasted sandwich." he said, unable to keep a note of disappointment out of his voice.

Donna was, understandably, somewhat put out by this response. "'Course it isn't, you prawn. _I _do my cooking in the kitchen, like _normal _people."

"What cooking?" the Doctor mumbled, pulling a tissue from the box which was sitting on his bedside table and rubbing his nose with it. "It's a bowl of cereal."

"Well, _alright_, then, Mr Foodie," huffed Donna, making as if to leave, "I just thought you might like a change from toasted sandwiches, but if you're going to be like that then you can forget about breakfast altogether, see if I care."

"Donna, I _can _make my own." said the Doctor, endeavouring to rise. "I'm not _that_ sick, and anyway, I _like _toasted sandwiches." He swung his feet out over the side of the bed and started to push off the mattress, but was met with a resistant hand to the chest. "Hey!" he complained. "What are you doing?"

"You _are _that sick." said Donna, pushing him gently back into bed. "Just look at all these used tissues you've got lying around here from last night! Eurghh! You're awfully unhygienic for someone who calls himself 'Doctor'."

"It's not _my_ fault I didn't have a bin handy." the Doctor returned, glowering at her. With his hair falling into his droopy brown eyes, he'd have looked about five years old were it not for the sideburns and morning stubble.

"Yes it is," said Donna, who was now helping herself to his cereal. "You've got all this rubbish in here and yet you didn't think to include a bin somewhere?"

"I was busy—and it's not rubbish!" he said defensively. "The lava lamps alone are worth millions in the star system of Oxymo—CHOO!" He was cut off as another massive sneeze struck, leaving him with an unfortunate amount of snot dripping from his nose and chin.

Although slightly disgusted, Donna couldn't help but laugh as she watched him grab another tissue and wipe himself up with a growl of frustration. She nearly choked on her cereal in the process, but it was worth it. "You _do _sound funny when you sneeze, time boy." she remarked at last.

"Huh," said the Doctor. "No funnier than _you _do." He crumpled the tissue up and tossed it carelessly onto the floor with the others while his companion looked on, wrinkling her nose.

"Tell you what," said Donna, through another mouthful of cereal, "how 'bout I go and get you a bin? You hardly use the one under the kitchen sink; I could bring that here if you like."

The Doctor shrugged. "S'pose so. Oh," he added, as she turned to go, "and could you bring that packet of biscuits from the pantry? The ones with sprinkles?"

Donna hid a smile. "Hardly what you'd call a proper breakfast, Doctor."

"So?" he said. "I'm ill, aren't I? I think I deserve compensation."

She chortled. "Alright, then. Anything else?"

"Well, some more tissues would be good..."

"Got it."

"Thanks." And the Doctor watched her vanish from the room. A moment or two passed before the sound of her footsteps died away, and then he allowed himself a wicked little grin.

* * *

"Here you go, sunshine!" Donna's voice sang out, five minutes later. "Bin and biscuits and boxes of tissues! Just what the Doctor ord—OI!" This last indignant syllable rent the air a split second after she opened the bedroom door and found that her patient had vanished. Fuming, she dropped the things she was holding onto the empty bed and then stomped off to find the AWOL Time Lord.

Had an observer been lurking aboard the TARDIS that "morning", and had that observer been listening hard, they might have found the ensuing conversation rather interesting...

"A-_HA!_ Got ya!"

"What? No fair! How'd you know where to look?"

"Doctor, I've been living in the same box as you for months now. I know which cupboards you like to hide in." A short pause. "Also, I heard you sneeze."

"Aww, but _Donnaaa...!_"

"Don't you 'but Donna' _me_, mister. Back to bed with you!"

"I don't want to go!"

"You'll never get better if you don't rest, you stupid alien! Look at you in those flimsy pyjamas; you're not even wearing any socks!"

A rebellious growl. "If I put some socks on, can I stay up?"

Another pause, longer than before. Then a grudging reply: "Fine."

* * *

A short while after this interesting conversation, a rather disgruntled Donna sat curled up on a sofa next to a rather smug Doctor (who was now wearing socks, which were black with red heels and toes, and said "Tuesday" on the soles; he was aware that there weren't any Tuesdays inside the time vortex, but as he'd said to Donna, it _felt _like Tuesday, so he was going to wear his Tuesday socks). They were watching telly.

"If you so much as sniffle," she warned him, "you're going back to your room. Understand?"

"You can't tell me what to do." the Doctor snorted.

"UN-DER-_STAND?_"

The Doctor took one look at Donna's expression, then intimated to her in a small voice that he understood.

* * *

They watched _Red Dwarf _reruns for hours, sometimes laughing until they cried. The Doctor sniffled on a great many occasions, covertly wiping his nose now and then when he thought Donna wouldn't notice. She noticed, but she said nothing. Outside the TARDIS, time passed serenely by. The Doctor semi-consciously rested his head on Donna's shoulder. Donna smiled to herself. His eyelids began to sink...

The "evening" drew to a close, and Donna turned off the television. The Doctor, sound asleep on her shoulder, didn't stir. She considered waking him and sending him off to bed, but decided against it in the end. She shifted ever so slightly, working herself into a (relatively) more comfortable position. Then she put both arms around her friend and planted a kiss on the top of his head. "Night night, spaceman." she whispered.

The Doctor smiled in his sleep, but this went unnoticed by his companion, for she had already nodded off herself.

* * *

**A/N: **Fun fact: I found this chapter incredibly hard to get to the end of because I kept getting distracted by cuteness overload. It was quite late at night, and after that I couldn't sleep for hours, and when I finally _did _get to sleep I had a dream about meeting David Tennant. I found the whole experience quite amusing in retrospect... Incidentally, the Doctor's socks are indeed based on David's socks, so props to anyone who picked up on that. And I will now round off this note by inviting you to have a look at my other Doctor Who story, Time-jacked. I'm taking turns updating one of the two stories each day, so that one gets an update tomorrow. Toodle-pip!


	3. Day Three

**Day Three**

Donna was unsurprised to find herself the first to wake—again. Whatever it was the Doctor had come down with, it was evidently fatiguing. It was quite odd seeing him this lacklustre, what with him usually being so bubbly and energetic. Still, he did look peaceful as he slept, and that was certainly something. He'd slipped down onto her lap during the night, pinning her arm beneath him. Were it not for the fact that she was consequently feeling rather uncomfortable, Donna might have laughed. It was like having a large pet fall asleep on one's knee whilst one is trying to enjoy sitting down and having a moment to oneself.

Eventually Donna grew tired of remaining in that position and began to ease herself out from underneath the dormant Time Lord. This was considerably more difficult than it sounds, but she freed herself in the end, and, rubbing some feeling back into her arm, went off to shower and have breakfast—but not before retrieving a large blanket from an unusually positioned cupboard and draping it gently over the Doctor, who rolled over in his sleep and muttered something about a singing zombie orchestra.

By the time she came back, eating a plateful of scrambled eggs, he was awake. She was made aware of this fact when she sat down in an armchair beside the sofa, glanced to the right and found herself facing a tuft of brown hair and two big, dark eyes peeping out over the edge of the blanket. "Donna Noble, did I give you permission to eat in this room?" this apparition queried, in tones which were hoarse but unmistakably the Doctor's.

"Oh, come off it." said Donna, pointing a forkful of egg at him in an accusing manner. "Like _you_ don't ever eat in front of the telly?"

At this stage, the Doctor saw fit to emerge fully from the blanket, grinning. "All the—" He coughed suddenly. "Time. _Ow_," he added, rubbing his chest with a rueful air. "This illness thing—I don't recommend it."

Donna laughed. "I'll try not to catch it off you, then."

"Might be a bit late for that." the Doctor said soberly—then, observing her reaction, "But I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. Different immune systems, different ailments. If you're lucky this'll just be a strain of some bug or other that doesn't affect humans."

"How likely do you think that is?" Donna asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

The Doctor just shrugged. "Dunno." Then he sneezed. "Ugh. Did you put the tissues over there somewhere...?" Donna reached over to the bookshelf which was situated behind the sofa, grabbed the box from the second shelf down and passed it to him. "Thanks," he half-said half-coughed, before proceeding to blow his nose.

"I think you're getting worse." Donna said anxiously, her fork hovering forgotten in the air, halfway between her plate and her mouth.

"Yeah, well..." said the Doctor, rubbing his eyes, "that's usually how it goes, isn't it?" He sighed and wrapped the blanket more closely around his shoulders as he struggled up into a sitting position. "I don't want to lie around all day again." A dismal cough followed this statement, adding a note of pathos.

Donna set her plate down on the left arm of the chair, leaned over and patted the Doctor on the back. "Never mind," she said. "I'm sure you'll feel better soon."

"Thanks." the Doctor said again, smiling. "I'm glad I've got you, anyway. They're right when they say misery loves company."

The phrase just about summed up the Doctor's entire lifestyle, thought Donna. She didn't say as much, though, instead rising from her seat and asking him if he wanted anything. His only request was for the sprinkled biscuits from the previous day, which she agreed to fetch after making him promise not to run off. After eating two or three of these, the Doctor seemed slightly revitalised, and was presently off the sofa and walking happily about, albeit sneezing or coughing every few minutes and occasionally complaining of a headache.

"What are you doing now?" asked Donna, following him along the hall.

"I think something's wrong with the TARDIS." said the Doctor. "I need to find out what."

"How d'you know there's something wrong?"

"Can't you tell? She sounds sick. Her humming's slightly off-key. And we're not moving."

"Well—maybe it's just because _you're _sick. Isn't it sort of...linked to you?"

"No, it's more than that." They made their way into the control room, where the Doctor beelined for the dashboard and began fiddling with the instruments, tutting to himself and pulling all kinds of worried faces. Donna watched with equal parts concern and bemusement. "Think I must've hit something I shouldn't have the day before yesterday, when I sneezed." the Doctor muttered. "Look at all those lights! I didn't even know half these things were working... It's like—like it's developed an alter ego or, or..." He broke off, catching Donna's eye. "What? What are you looking at me like that for?"

Donna was unable to keep back a chuckle. "It's nothing, just... You don't half look silly, acting the mechanic-y tech-boffin while you're in your pyjamas."

"What's wrong with pyjamas?" the Doctor demanded, making an indignant gesture.

"Well, they're—"

"I won a sword fight in my pyjamas once," the Doctor went on, resuming his inspection of the TARDIS controls.

"You what?"

"I did. Saved Earth from another nice mess it'd gotten itself into—so I think I can safely say that there's nothing wrong with wearing pyjamas in a serious situation now and again. Although..."

"What is it?" asked Donna.

"My sonic screwdriver," said the Doctor, looking a bit forlorn. "I left it in my suit pocket, in my room— Unghh..." He closed his eyes and massaged his temples, groaning slightly. "My head..."

"You know, Doctor, you're a lot worse than yesterday." said Donna. "Maybe you should lie down again."

"No," said the Doctor, "not until I've had a proper look here. I need to help the TARDIS; she's not flying like she should be, and that could cause us any number of problems—several of them quite nasty."

Donna sighed. "Alright. I'll go and get your screwdriver."

"Would you? Thanks," he said, flashing her a grateful smile before turning back to the dashboard and beginning to comfort the ailing TARDIS, stroking it gently. "Chin up, old girl. I know how it feels, I really do..." Donna shook her head slowly as she made her way to his bedroom. He was quite, quite mad.

It didn't take long to find the Doctor's screwdriver and ferry it back to him, whereupon he began scanning the entire control room with it, an intense look on his face. "Have you worked out what the problem is yet?" Donna asked at length.

"If I had," the Doctor coughed, still scanning, "I would've _fixed _it by now." After a moment he came to a standstill, his arm falling uselessly to his side as the screwdriver switched off. "I don't know." he said, running his empty hand through his hair in frustration. "I just—don't know. We _should _have been suspended in motion, but we've slipped out of the time vortex somehow, the steering's locked and—I think we're drifting."

"Is that bad?" Donna asked quietly.

"I wish I could say for certain." the Doctor replied. "In most cases, no. Most likely scenario is we get drawn eventually into orbit around the nearest centre of gravity, which the balanced probability indicates is likely to be a—a—A-CHOO!" He doubled over at that point, dropping his sonic screwdriver and clutching his head. Several more sneezes followed, punctuated only by the occasional groan or hacking cough.

Donna, having seen and heard enough, took him firmly by the elbow and guided him, protesting shrilly between bouts of coughing and sneezing, back to bed.

* * *

Later that "afternoon", Donna was sitting in the television room and reading a magazine. She was halfway through a fascinating article on interior decorating trends on the planet Iax when a plaintive voice sounded from the Doctor's room.

"Donnaaa..."

"What is it?"

"Can I come out now?"

"Doctor, you're never going to get better if you don't get enough rest!"

"I _have _rested, Donna! I'm feeling loads better now. Can't I just—"

"No! No _allons-y _for you until you're completely recovered! Got it?"

A sigh. "You're so _mean_ when you're feeling protective. Did you know that?"

"Yes. Now shut up and go to sleep."

An exaggerated groan, and then his door was slammed shut.

* * *

When Donna went to check on the Doctor that "evening", she found that he had not improved. In fact, he seemed even worse than before. He was reporting an ache in his back as well as his head, and his forehead was warm.

"D'you think I should phone Martha?" Donna asked anxiously.

The Doctor coughed and looked up at her with tired eyes. "What for?"

"Well, she's a doctor, isn't she? A proper one, I mean, who knows about medicine and things."

"I doubt she's familiar with Time Lord biology, Donna."

"So? You can fill her in on whatever she's missing." Donna pointed out. "And wouldn't you like to see her again?"

"Well..." The Doctor glanced up at the ceiling. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try, anyway."

"Okay, just give me a minute." Donna rushed off to find the mobile phone Martha had left with the Doctor. Luckily, it didn't prove too hard to find, and Donna was soon on her way back to the Doctor's room, dialling the number as she went. However, on entering, her face fell.

"What's wrong?" asked the Doctor.

"Answering machine." said Donna.

"Must be busy." said the Doctor.

"Well _obviously_, you great muppet, but what do I do now?" asked Donna, tossing the phone aside in annoyance. "Don't you have a first aid cabinet or something?"

The Doctor seemed surprised by her question. "Um...actually, yeah, now that you mention it..."

"What?! Where?"

"I think it was just above the oven. I think."

Donna didn't waste time in berating him for failing to remember a thing like that sooner, but disappeared again, only to return a few minutes later with a small glass bottle, a copy of the _Gallifreyan First Aid Guide_ and a new-found aura of calm. "According to this," she announced, waving the book in front of the Doctor's face, "you've got the flu. Nothing exotic—just your plain everyday strain of good old honest flu."

The Doctor was puzzled by her attitude. "You're acting like that's unexpected."

"Well," said Donna, "I mean...I suppose, given your symptoms, it was a bit obvious, but—still, you never know with aliens, do you?"

The Doctor grinned. "True."

"Anyway," Donna went on, opening the bottle, "you're supposed to take one of these pills every four hours apparently, so..." She tipped one into her palm and handed it to him, along with a glass of water. "Open wide."

The Doctor sighed, coughed and obeyed. "What now?" he asked gloomily, after a lot of gagging and grimacing.

"Hmm." said Donna, brow furrowing. "Well..." She brightened suddenly. "I _could_ read you a story if you like."

"You could...?...!" The Doctor trailed off, looking indignant. "Donna, I'm _nine hundred and three _years old!"

Silence.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

He weakened. "Well...I _do _really like _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_..."

Donna laughed.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah. I have no idea why I picked that book. It just seemed his style. Also, I rather like that "No _allons-y _for you!" line, for some reason...


	4. Day Four

**Day Four**

On the fourth day the Doctor's fever became more pronounced. His aches and pains had not abated either, and as for his nose and throat, well, Donna was beginning to worry that the TARDIS would run out of tissues before the worst was over.

"D'you want anything to eat?" she asked at length, having checked on him, felt his forehead, replaced his bin liner and helped him with his medicine. The Doctor shook his head feebly. "You sure? Not even another one of those biscuits?"

Another shake of the head, slightly more emphatic. "No, but...thanks anyway."

Donna looked down, embarrassed. "S'alright. Not like I've got anything better to do."

He smiled. "This is why you're my best friend."

"Oh, stop it." she chuckled, swatting him in the arm. "So, any last requests before I leave the room?"

"Er... Well..."

"Yeah?"

"..."

"...?"

"...A mirror and my shaving things would be nice."

"Oh, _Doctor_."

* * *

Looking after a sick Time Lord, Donna decided, was hard work. And she'd thought the Doctor was difficult enough when he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. But, all things considered, hers was a task made lighter by her (strictly platonic) love for her friend. So that was okay.

But it _was_ nice to have a break, and as the Doctor had been sleeping soundly last time she'd looked in on him, she was now doing just that. A cup of tea and the remainder of the Doctor's sprinkled biscuits sat on the coffee table beside her; she was lying full-length on the sofa with her feet up on one arm, head resting on the other, and she had the telly on, playing _The Graham Norton Show_. It was really quite handy how the TARDIS could pick up signals from Earth, now that she thought about it.

Actually...

Having arrived mentally at the topic of the TARDIS, Donna was prompted to go into the control room and check the scanners, assuming they were still working. If the Doctor was right about the TARDIS not being in the time vortex any more—and she couldn't really think why he wouldn't be—then they might have found some centre of gravity to drift towards by now, so it would doubtless be a good idea to try and find out what direction they were going in, and more importantly, what lay in store for them.

So, getting to her feet and draining her teacup, Donna took off out of the lounge and was soon looking carefully over the scanner readings. Unfortunately, however, these readings—near unintelligible at the best of times to those of little experience—had become quite garbled as a result of whatever it was that afflicted the TARDIS, and she couldn't make head or tail of them.

Not yet discouraged, Donna strode over to the TARDIS doors and opened them, looking out into the space through which the damaged machine sailed. Perpetual blackness stretched out in front of her, dappled by the light of the stars and countless other peculiarities. There didn't seem to be anything particularly worrisome out there...

Then the TARDIS swivelled around, and she saw the hole.

Well, it wasn't so much a hole as a gash, really: a hideous tear in space itself, through which she could see...nothing. Just a darkness that made that of space seem bright by comparison. Donna had no idea what was on the other side, but she was getting a horrible feeling that unless someone steered the TARDIS out of the way, she'd be finding out pretty soon.

Closing the doors, Donna took a deep breath and began to think. There was no way she could try to pilot the TARDIS herself; she wouldn't know where to start even if everything were in proper working order. She couldn't not do anything though, so that left her with only one other option, much as she wished to avoid it: she'd have to wake the Doctor and ask him for help.

With great reluctance, Donna headed for the Doctor's room and opened the door. He was still asleep, and seemed remarkably tranquil for someone with a fever, though he did occasionally shiver a bit, and his face and hair were slightly damp. With even greater reluctance, Donna laid a hand on his arm and spoke softly in his ear. "Doctor?"

No answer.

"Doctor, I need you to wake up for a minute..."

"Mph."

"Doctor...?"

"Hmm?"

"_Doctor!"_

"Aargh!" His eyes snapped open. "I'm awake, I'm awake!" He winced, dragging his hands up to his face. "What is it?" In as few words as possible, Donna described to him what she'd seen. By the time she'd finished, he was paler than ever, and his trembling fists gripped the blankets as though his life depended upon it. When he spoke, his voice was a near imperceptible whisper. "I have to fix this."

For once, Donna didn't argue with him. "How?"

"I don't know, but—" He broke off, straining as he tried (and failed) to get up. "—I have to try and think of—" He coughed. "—something."

"Here," said Donna, helping him to his feet. "Lean on me."

"Thanks."

"Not _too _hard, you great lump! _Blimey_, you're heavy for such a skinny bloke."

"Sorry..."

They shuffled into the control room, where Donna took the Doctor to the TARDIS doors and showed him the awful black rift outside. His eyes widened visibly, and he rushed (with some difficulty) to the console, where he began immediately to wrestle with the steering controls—but apparently to no avail.

"Doctor?" queried Donna.

"I have to—get us back—inside the time vortex." the Doctor said through gritted teeth, sweat beading on his brow as he tried a variety of different instruments with little effect.

"What _is _that thing out there, Doctor?" Donna pressed. "You know, don't you?"

"Oh, it's just a fissure," said he, slumping against the console, finally exhausted, "there're loads of them throughout all the universes—mostly harmless, you know, generally small and insignificant, but..."

"But not that one." finished Donna.

He grimaced—then spoiled the effect by coughing several times and sinking into a miserable little heap on the floor. "No. Not that one." His nose started to run again, and he fumbled around for a tissue. Donna pulled one out of her pocket and gave it to him, whereupon he thanked her and heaved a weary sigh as he cleaned himself up.

Donna knelt down beside him, paused a moment, then asked, "Why not that one?" But the Doctor, staring fixedly at his clammy hands, gave no answer. "Doctor." She put a finger under his chin and raised his head slightly so he was looking her in the eye. "What's wrong with that one?"

"It..." The Doctor hesitated, trying to find the right words.

"Is it dangerous?" Donna prompted. "Will entering it do something to the TARDIS?"

"Well...not exactly." said the Doctor. "It's—not the fissure itself that's the problem, it's where it leads to."

"Where?"

"A one-dimensional universe."

Donna opened her mouth, then closed it, blinked several times, then opened it again. "A _what?_"

"Not all universes have the same number of dimensions as ours." the Doctor explained, seeming more haggard and worn than ever he had before. "Most do, but not all. Some have more, others have less. The universe we're about to enter...it only has one."

"But," said Donna, "how can we exist in a one-dimensional universe? That'd be like a straight line, wouldn't it? Would _we _turn into lines?"

"I don't know." the Doctor said in a low voice. "I've never been to a universe with any less than four dimensions before. Anything could happen. We might be fine, or the nature of our existence itself could be altered, or we might cease to be altogether. I just don't know, and—I can't stop it, and—and—oh, Donna..." His eyes filled abruptly with tears. "I'm so sorry."

Donna had been reeling with shock while he'd spoken, barely hearing his words as they began to dissolve into an incomprehensible, agonised mess. But now, seeing him in such distress, she found herself feeling uncommonly focused all of a sudden, an unexpected calm having filled her. As the Doctor continued to lose both clarity and composure, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. "Don't be sorry, Doctor." she said quietly. "It's not your fault."

"But I can't fix it, Donna." he sobbed.

"You don't have to."

"I got you into this."

"I _chose _this."

"But...we could die. How do you know you can face that?"

Donna was silent for a few seconds, staring past his head at the wall. Then she said, trying to keep her own voice steady as her eyes, like his, began swimming, "I can face it if I'm not alone, if I've got you here with me. We can hope for the best together, right?"

The Doctor, cheek resting against her shoulder, took a deep breath and drew his arms more closely about her. "Right."

* * *

**A/N: **Crikey, sudden shift into angst territory. I didn't mean that to happen when I started this chapter, but oh well. The Doctor's reaction here may be a bit extreme given how brave he usually is, but I think anyone trying to deal with anxiety, fatigue, fever and guilt all at the same time would find it pretty hard to keep it together... Anyway, that's that for now. Thanks for your enthusiastic responses so far!


	5. Day Five

**Day Five**

The TARDIS's humming was more subdued than ever the next day, as it glided slowly but steadily closer to the distant fissure in space. Inside it, Donna sat by the Doctor's bed, holding his hand to let him know she was still there, gazing vacantly down at him while he slept.

Of course, "slept" is a fairly broad way of putting it. He was constantly shaking and sweating, stirred often and sometimes opened his eyes, whimpering slightly. When he tried to speak during these periods of restlessness, he sounded almost entirely incoherent. Donna wished she could help him, but beyond giving him his medicine and plenty of fluids, there wasn't a lot she could do besides trying to comfort him when he seemed aware of her presence.

As these opportunities were few and far between while the hours dragged by, Donna found her mind wandering a lot. This wouldn't ordinarily have been a problem, except it was hard not to keep her thoughts from turning eventually to her possible impending doom. "Possible" was probably the keyword here; it might have been easier to resign herself to her fate if she'd actually known what her fate was—but as things stood, she wasn't sure what to feel exactly. Hope was good, and hope she had, but while she had hope, she also had the fear that that hope would be dashed—and the knowledge that she wouldn't be alive long enough to regret dashed hopes in such a scenario wasn't much consolation.

But the worst aspect of her situation was undoubtedly the Doctor, thought Donna, giving his hand a squeeze as she observed him begin to grow agitated again. It wasn't that she resented him for being ill or anything, just that it was hard to face up to the fact that, right when she needed him to be strong, to promise her that everything would be alright and make her feel better, it was she who had to step up to the plate and do that for him this time. It was a duty she was willing to embrace for her friend, but a daunting one nonetheless, and, right now, a lonely one.

Donna sighed and leaned back in her chair, while in his bed the Doctor fell quiet, though he continued to tremble. Now that she thought about it, there might not be any sense in trying to look after him like this if they were about to be turned into lines or blotted out from existence or something. But it was a distraction at least, and if they came out of this alive, then of course it would be worth it. And here she was again, forever wondering what would happen—and not just what, but when; they'd been adrift for days now, and still they'd yet to pass through the fissure. Perhaps there was a chance they'd pass it by? Perhaps. But Donna had learned not to count on such chances.

Annoyed at how bleak she was feeling, Donna reached into her pocket with her free hand and brought out her mobile, intending to ring home. She had no idea what she intended to say, but it wasn't much fun having no one to talk to, and if she were to die, then of course she didn't want to do so without saying goodbye to her family.

She listened while the dial tone rang in her ear three times...four...five...then the phone was answered by her mother. "Hullo?"

"Mum, it's me."

"Donna? What is it, what's wrong?"

"I—" The words caught in her throat, and she trailed off into silence for a second or two. How did one break such news? She still didn't know what was going to happen; maybe it would be better not to say. "Nothing, I...just thought I'd phone and see how you were, that's all."

"Huh." said her mother, not sounding entirely convinced. "There's something I never thought I'd hear you say." A slight pause. "I'm fine, I suppose, although I've just had the plumber in to look at the sink and _that _was a right old rigmarole, I can tell you—"

"Yeah, I can imagine." Donna broke in hastily, sensing a tirade coming on. "How's Granddad?"

"Oh, he's alright. Misses you, though."

Donna smiled to herself. She and her grandfather had always been close. "Tell him I miss him too. _And_ you, obviously."

"Mm." Mrs Noble seemed almost surprised to hear it. "Yes... And you're well, are you?"

"Er," said Donna, once again deliberating on just how honest to be. "Not—too bad, thanks."

"And this Doctor of yours?" her mother went on, adopting a more perfunctory tone as she brought the subject around to one of her least favourite people. "He alright?"

"Er, well, no," said Donna. "He's a bit crook, actually."

"Oh. Is it serious?"

"No, I don't think so. I hope not, anyway."

"I see... And can we expect you back any time soon?"

This question was agonising to hear, but at least she could be honest this time. "I hope so." she said in a small voice. Then, as the Doctor's grip on her hand tightened unexpectedly, "Anyway, I think I'd better go now. See you later."

"Right..." said Mrs Noble, sounding slightly puzzled. "Bye, then."

"Yeah. Love you."

"You too." And then her mother hung up, leaving Donna to take a deep breath, brush a tear out of her eye and attend to the Doctor, who'd begun to talk in his sleep again, sounding slightly more understandable than he had in a while.

"Donna," he murmured, tossing weakly about. "Donna, don't—"

"It's okay, Doctor," she said, brushing his hair lightly out of his face. "I'm here."

"Donna, don't—go, you can't..."

"I'm here, Doctor."

"No... I don't want—I can't... You...have to stay—"

"It's just a dream, Doctor. You're having a bad dream. I'm not going anywhere."

"Donna." His eyes opened slowly after a few minutes. "Donna... You're still here."

She gave him a small smile. "'Course I am. Where d'you think I'd go?"

"I don't—know, I..." He frowned a bit, absently pulling a tissue from the box by the bed and blowing his nose. "I was dreaming, but now I...can't remember what about."

"Well," said Donna, squeezing his hand again, "it doesn't matter now, does it? Anyway, good to see you're sounding more like yourself. You were pretty out of it a few hours ago."

"Was I?" he enquired, smiling back at her. "That must've been something else."

"It was." she said. "Almost an improvement, actually, now I think about it."

"Oi..."

She laughed softly. "D'you want a drink or anything?"

"No, I'm alright." Already his eyelids were beginning to droop. "Thanks, though."

"Yeah..."

Within minutes, he was fast asleep again. Time plodded ever onwards, and eventually Donna absented herself for a short period to eat some dinner. When she returned, she noted that he was starting to look a little bit better; but just in case, she decided to kip on a spare mattress in his room that "night". Just in case.

He woke her up on a couple of occasions as nightmares continued to plague him. Both times she made her way through the dark to his side, calmed him down and then went back to her makeshift bed. She didn't mind having her sleep interrupted, though, because truth be told, she was having a few anxiety dreams herself, always permeated by the voices of the people she knew and loved, begging her not to leave them. In the dreams she kept telling them she'd never go, that all they had to do was ask and she'd stay with them forever.

* * *

**A/N: **Aww. Next chapter will be less bleak, I promise.


	6. Day Six

**Day Six**

Dawn comes early, with rosy fingers. But not in space. Donna woke up regardless, at that time which felt like dawn, as often happens when one doesn't sleep well. She was surprised to see by the light of the lava lamps that the Doctor already astir and peeping down at her from over the side of his bed. Their eyes met, and he smiled. "What?" she demanded.

He shrugged, still smiling. "Not every day I wake up and find a strange woman in my room."

"Oh, honestly." She threw a pillow at him, whereupon he giggled like an idiot until she joined in, and they spent the next several minutes laughing themselves silly. They were, after all, both _very_ tired.

On calming down at last, Donna staggered to her feet and turned on the lights. "_You're_ looking more lively today." she observed, raising an eyebrow at him. "Not that that's any great achievement considering what you were like before."

"Mph." he said, sobering up a bit. "Don't remind me."

"Sorry. Anyway, I'm off to get dressed. Will you be wanting breakfast?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

He put on his best cajoling face. "On whether you'd be willing to make toasted sandwiches or not."

"Oh _alright_, then." she said with a put-upon air, grinning to herself as she went out the door.

"With Swiss cheese?" his voice followed her anxiously.

"Yes, yes. With Swiss cheese."

"And cut up into little triangles? Because you know I don't like—"

"_Yes_, I know you don't like squares or rectangles. Happy?" The Doctor made a sort of enthusiastic squeak, which she took for an acquiescence. By this time she was halfway down the hall; it didn't take her long to return to her own room, grab some clothes, shower and get dressed, and then she went off to make the sandwiches.

* * *

The Doctor was sitting up in bed when she returned, appearing somewhat less peaky than he had of late, though with his rumpled pyjamas and tousled hair, he was still a mess. His eyes sparkled with anticipation as Donna ceremoniously handed him a plate—then darkened when he examined its contents and began to scowl. "You said you'd cut it into little triangles." he complained. "These are _rhomboids!_"

At his expression, Donna burst out laughing again. The aggrieved Doctor glanced from his plate to his riotous companion, then back down, then back up, and said nothing. "I _know _that, you ridiculous alien," Donna gasped at last, leaning against his bedside table and taking a deep breath. "That was _my_ plate I gave you. I just wanted to see your reaction—" She was seized with another paroxysm of mirth at this point, then got a hold of herself and produced a second plate. "_These _are yoursandwiches."

The Doctor, who had faded from indignation to bewilderment as she'd talked, now lit up again and eagerly grabbed the new plate, which did indeed contain the triangular viands requested. "Ah." he said, stuffing one into his mouth at once. "Fanksh."

Donna just grinned broadly and helped herself to the sandwiches of the rhomboid variety.

* * *

By the time "afternoon" had arrived, the Doctor's symptoms were largely diminished. He still had the occasional cough or sniffle, but that was about it, and when Donna came in with lunch, he demanded to be allowed out of bed.

"Donna," he said, "I demand to be allowed out of bed."

Donna, seeing how buoyant he was, and calculating that they'd be passing through that rotten gateway to One-Dimension World sometime that "evening" anyway, did not take a lot of convincing. "Oh, go on, then." she said.

"Brilliant!" quoth he, and bounded happily from the room, pausing only to give her a fleeting kiss on the cheek as he passed her. Donna, greatly amused (and somewhat baffled) by his behaviour, turned slowly on her heel and followed.

They ate, then spent an enjoyable couple of hours playing Hide and Seek. (The TARDIS was, unsurprisingly, a perfect location for that excellent game, as there were more hiding places available than you could poke a stick at. Donna always got bags on being the first one to hide, even though she knew the Doctor cheated by using his sonic screwdriver to scan for her DNA.) Then, when the novelty of that pastime began to fade, they went into the television room and sat down to watch some _Firefly_.

It was nice at first, but after a while Donna began to feel anxious again. She looked at the Doctor (who was currently snorting with laughter at something clever Mal had said) and asked, "Is this really how we want to spend our last moments, Doctor?"

The Doctor's smile faded, and he paused the episode. "They might not be our last moments." he said quietly.

"No, but there's a strong possibility, isn't there?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do."

A short silence.

"Well..." He shifted so that he was sitting sideways on the sofa with his feet tucked under him, facing her. "What would you rather be doing, then? If they are."

Donna thought about it, then shrugged helplessly. "I'm not really sure. I suppose I'd rather be with my family, but..."

"Yeah..." He trailed off, looking vacantly back at the screen for a moment. "You've got me, though."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah." She smiled a bit. "I've got you." And then she gestured towards the telly. "You can resume now if you want."

He raised the remote. "Might as well, I s'pose... Wonder if we can get through the whole series before we reach the fissure."

Donna laughed in spite of herself. "Maybe if it's a nice sentient rip in space, we can stall it for a while until we're finished."

The Doctor started to laugh as well, then stopped, expression turning thoughtful in an instant. His brow furrowed for a split second—and then his eyes lit up, an ecstatic grin captured his face, and he arose at once from his seat. "Oh!" he cried. "That's _it! _Donna Noble, you are _brilliant_." And he cut a caper, let out a giddy whoop of delight and rushed out of the room.

"Wait, what?" Donna called after him, horribly confused. "Doctor, that was a joke! _Doctor! _Oh, you stupid spaceman," she added to herself, realising he couldn't hear her. Quickly, she got up and hastened after him. "DOCTOR!" she bellowed. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"I've figured out what's wrong with the TARDIS," he sang, dashing along the corridor at an almost indecent pace, "and I'm going to make her better again!"

* * *

**A/N: **And so, we reach the penultimate chapter. Told you the angst would be over soon. (grin) I giggled like an idiot myself at the rhomboid sandwiches bit. (I was, of course, _very_ tired at the time.) Also, ironically, I actually got sick while I was writing this one. It was like the Doctor's fictional sickness transferred into my body when I made him start to get better. Weird. Anyway...

Oh! I have a plug to make this time around. A couple of days ago I happened across a oneshot by Hay Bails called "A Time Lord Can Develop The Flu", and it was so much like this story that it was not just amazing, but actually a little bit eerie. But I _did_ say it was a pretty common premise, and Hay Bails thought of it first, so, all kudos and internets go to Hay Bails! I heartily recommend his/her work, as it is utterly marvellous. Really. I started to tear up from sheer adorableness when I read that oneshot, and that is highly unusual for me.


	7. Day Seven

**Day Seven**

On the seventh day, the TARDIS touched safely down outside Donna's house in the year 2008. It turned out the only real problem with the TARDIS was that the Doctor had stalled it accidentally when he'd sneezed on day one and lost track of what his hands were doing. It hadn't previously occurred to him that this might be the case because, as he'd explained to Donna, he was normally such a good pilot that he hadn't stalled it for a couple of centuries at least.

Having finally diagnosed the trouble, however, all he'd needed to do to get it going again was to stop and restart it. (Donna didn't think she'd ever forget the terrifying sensation of free-falling through space in a sealed compartment, but happily for her, it had only lasted for a few seconds before they were flying as normal.)

Once the Doctor had seen that everything was stable and in proper working condition, he'd swerved out of the way of the ever-approaching fissure, set the destination for home and brought the TARDIS back into the time vortex. After that he and Donna had sort of leapt about and shouted a lot and hugged each other to express their relief and subsequent exhilaration at their escape. The Doctor had then explained all that had just happened, and Donna had berated him for not having thought to restart the engine before, and then they'd settled down to finish off their show and get a good night's sleep prior to their arrival on Earth.

* * *

"Well," said Donna, as she and the (now almost completely recovered) Doctor emerged from the TARDIS into the warm late-morning air, "that was a bit different to our usual type of adventure, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," said the Doctor, observing his surroundings with that fondness particular to the frequent visitor. "Although I'd normally hesitate to say that there's such thing as a 'usual kind of adventure' in our case, I think this time you might be right." He sniffed. "Unfortunately."

"At least it's over." said Donna. "And there were a few ups among the downs."

"Really?" the Doctor enquired. "I can't think of any myself."

Donna started to dissent, but then saw the mischievous grin on his face and let out a quiet laugh instead. "Have it your way."

They linked arms affectionately and walked up to Donna's front door. It was Sylvia Noble who answered, looking somewhat unimpressed. "I thought you said he wasn't well," she said to Donna, jerking her head in the Doctor's direction.

"Yeah, well," said Donna, shrugging, "he's, er—" She cringed as the Doctor tried to cough very quietly. "—better now."

"Hmph." said Mrs Noble. "I should jolly-well hope so. Don't need him spreading_ germs_ around as well as all the usual trouble."

The Doctor, trying not to look too wounded, did not address Donna's mother any more directly than she did him. "You told her I was ill?" he demanded of Donna. "What'd you do _that _for?"

"Well, she asked me how you were!" Donna said defensively.

"When was this?"

"Day before yesterday. You were asleep."

"Huh." said the Doctor, folding his arms. "Well...fine."

A pause.

"Are you two going to stand out here like a couple of muppets all day?" Mrs Noble queried. Donna and the Doctor shared a glance, then stepped meekly across the threshold. "Anyway," Mrs Noble went on, leading them into the kitchen, "talking of the other day, what _was _all that about, Donna? You sounded quite upset."

"Oh." said Donna, rather reluctantly. "Yeah, it wasn't anything. Just a bit stressed, what with looking after this one and all." She put an arm around the Doctor to make her point.

"Hey," the Doctor protested, "I wasn't _that _bad."

"Nah," said Donna, grinning, "you were worse."

"Was not."

"Were too."

"Was _not_."

"Were _too_."

"Was—"

"Cup of tea, anyone?" Mrs Noble interrupted loudly.

Donna and the Doctor immediately forgot their squabble. "Yes, thanks," they chorused, accompanied by Wilfred, who had just entered the room while his granddaughter and her Time Lord were sitting down at the dining room table.

"Alright, then." said Mrs Noble, putting the kettle on. "Oh, hullo, Dad. I thought you were up the hill."

"I saw these two come in to land," Wilfred explained. "Thought I'd pop in and see how they were."

"Oh, not too bad, thanks, Wilf." said the Doctor, smiling. "Never better, actually."

"_Hmmm..."_ said Donna and her mother, in perfect unison.

The Doctor coloured slightly. "Well..._almost_ never better." He tried to hide another sniffle.

"Good-oh." said Wilfred. "So, just stopping by?"

"Yeah," said Donna. "We've been sort of cooped up for a bit, so we thought—that is, I thought and the Doctor agreed—that we might come here for a quick visit before going off to Fetch or wherever it was..."

"Kvetch." the Doctor corrected.

"Same difference."

"Not really."

"Well," Mrs Noble interrupted again, distributing the cups of tea, "it's nice that you're here, anyway. Do you want to, er...stay for dinner, or...?" She addressed this question mostly to Donna, but it was the Doctor who answered.

"Oh," he said, "no, we couldn't possibly—" And then he broke off, noticing Donna's stony expression. "—er, that is, yes, we'd love to."

Mrs Noble seemed to deflate a bit. "Lovely." she said, with considerably less enthusiasm than the word merited. And so that was that.

Later, Donna and the Doctor would go back to the TARDIS and find a rather befuddled Martha Jones awaiting them, full of garbled questions and explanations about missed phone calls and answering machines and emergencies and timey-wimey stuff, whereupon the Doctor would inform her in almost as confused a manner that he'd been ill but he was fine now and so they didn't need her help and wasn't that funny, and they'd all have a good laugh about it.

But none of that matters right at the moment, so we'll leave them here as they are, our poor brave heroes, as they spend a surprisingly nice evening together with Sylvia and Wilfred, eating fish and chips for dinner.

The End

* * *

**A/N: **I've said this before with my Sherlock fanfic, but I'll say it again here: I didn't default to chips and tea because this is set in England, but rather because they're my two of my default funny food/drink words, so I use them in loads of stories regardless of the setting. Just in case you were wondering. Okay. So I hope you enjoyed the end of this as much as you did, presumably, the beginning. I've had loads of fun with this story, so it's always good if people have fun reading it. Thanks for all your feedback, and for taking the time to look at my work!


End file.
